Casting the Crying Dream
by fallacies
Summary: A generic world jumping Ranma ends up in a patchwork crossover reality, accompanied by an ANC. Disturbingly, none of the series that appear seem to be Tenchi Muyo, Ah! My Goddess, or Sailor Moon ...
1. pr0logue foreword

Disclaimers:

The characters and concepts included in the text below are the property of their respective creators. Their usage herein is not intended to conflict with the economic agendas of the media distributors licensed to misrepresent the source material for publication in the North American region. Fan-renderings of published material sold for monetary gain is protected under Japanese law, allowing that copyrights are acknowledged.

Comments for improvement greatly appreciated

---   
SIDE-A : DieAPOLOGETICA   
broken circle, third mix  
---

K. alpha and omega, the beginning and the end

_Ignoring the raindrops running across her face, Kasumi carries  
her sister's comatose form through a maze of dimly lit streets in  
the back-alleys of Nerima. A distance away, a cloaked man  
wielding a key-shaped blade trails her path in slow, deliberate  
paces._

XII. a lack of empirical basis in epic opening exposition

_On-screen at NERV Command, UNIT-01 bashes impotently at  
a shimmering force-field suspended a few meters in front of a  
floating girl. Her golden twin pony-tails and the silken material  
of her black dress billow in the breeze. The orange text at the  
bottom of the display reads, "AT-Field - Pattern Blue : Signature  
- TYPE-MOON."_

J. categorical distinction, a pillar of human thought

_The roar of the cheering crowds at the Tenkaichi Budoukai is  
deafening. A younger Jiraiya grins at the obviously amateur  
stance of his middle-aged opponent as the referee signals for the  
match to start. Jacky Chung simply smirks back._

X. the reification of absolutes is wholly invalid

_Leaning against the Silence Glaive for support amidst the  
rubble of a collapsed building, Sailor Saturn glares into the skies  
of Tokyo. In the still air, the hulking hand of the RahXephon  
bears in its palm a slender redhead, who without regard to the  
destruction below continues to sing._

9. the world in our minds as polarized extremities

_The massive biceps on Kasumi's arm ripple as she flicks her  
finger, sending her opponent sprawling like a rag doll across the  
tatami.'_

VIII. distortion of perception in simplicity

_Against the backdrop of a medieval castle, Ranma clashes  
blades with a figure in a full suit of armor. His opponent's cloth  
hood is tattered by the sonic impact of the broadswords, and  
falls away to reveal the aging face of Demon Lord Piccolo._

7. discrimination is the rule of thumb

_Yagami Raito cackles as he gives into the Riot of Blood._

VI. fiction lies in truth, and truth lies in fiction

_Ranma's face bears a sinister grin as his clawed fingers dig into  
the flesh of Akane's neck. Soun, face empty of emotion, draws  
his katana from its ornamental sheath and charges the boy._

5. addressing insecurity in writing, irrational

_Naked, a fourteen-year-old Ukyou climbs the wire fence along  
the sides of the school roof. Standing atop the railing for a  
moment, she turns to smile sadly at the pigtailed boy banging at  
the window of the door to the staircase. She looks away from  
him, and after what seems a moment of reconsideration plunges  
headfirst to the ground._

IV. the real world without absolutes, which cannot be faced

_'Sometimes,' he writes, 'the difference between Zero and One is  
no difference at all. Sometimes, the difference is all the  
difference in the world.'_

3. how the pen kills complexity

_Shnnnck, ssshhpt, ssshhpt, ssshhpt._

II.the consumers demand delusion

_'I win ...' says a voice to nobody. Somewhere, eyes close._

A. casting the crying dream

--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - ---  
casting the crying dream  
a generic ranma 1/2 multicross  
by fallacies  
pr0logue-foreword : kyouzai kyougu / khaos  
"the end of the id"  
--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - ---

---

SIDE-B : DieGEBURTDerTRAGODIE  
another world, thirteen years ago  
---

Ranma willed the blood to vanish from his hands, but as if to mock  
him it continued dripping into the puddle at his feet. The sounds of  
battle filled the sky.

"Do you believe yourself to be special, child?" someone asked. "You  
claimed to love her, and vowed that under your watch she would  
never fall to darkness. Look at what you have done instead. This is  
the control you so pride yourself in as a martial artist?"

A few meters away, Akane's smiling corpse lay sprawled across the  
stone slabbing of the steps. There was a tear in her blouse between  
the breasts, which continued into the open cavity he had created in  
the space once occupied by her heart. The stain on the cloth around  
the wound steadily grew.

"That we cannot forcibly alter you as we have the others means little.  
You are not impervious to our influence," said the voice. "There  
exists in the world only a single truth, and it is inescapable."  
Ranma tore the few remaining shreds of his shirt from his torso and  
turned to glare at the source of his torment.

"You really have nobody left to blame but yourself," noted the  
speaker, an elderly gentleman in a large overcoat and bowler hat.  
"We are not capable of generating hate where it does not originally  
exist. Our power acts only to disperse the dishonesties with which  
humans veil their hearts -- the cage of the super-ego. Did you think  
this woman-child strong enough to resist us where so many others  
have failed?"

With each step, Ranma left a print of crimson on the granite. "Don  
Genosai," he hissed.

"You insulted her," said Genosai, removing the long white scarf  
draped around his neck with a gloved hand. "You bested her in all the  
matters that she cared for the most ... Did you believe she forgot, that  
she would somehow grant to you her mercy and forgiveness  
unconditionally? You answered your deserved share of chaos and  
pain with self-pity, pride, and righteousness, that in the end, you were  
all but blind to the truth that all mortals suffer comparably. Did you  
believe yourself alone in your agony?"

Ranma reached to grasp the old man's collar, but as his fingers closed  
in, the man vanished.

"She tried to murder you," said Genosai's fading voice, "because of  
your apathy."

No longer caring that he might yet again kill, Ranma quickly located  
Genosai's ki signature atop the Furinkan clock tower. Leaping  
upwards to the roof, he caught the edge of the building and used the  
remainder of his angular momentum to flip himself and send an axe  
kick at Genosai's face. The old man back-stepped and allowed  
Ranma's foot to hit the concrete. The front of the clock tower  
shattered.

"And so too does this heart fall to shadow," said Genosai, smiling.  
In his hand, the scarf he held reshaped itself into a white katana. The  
city burned, and the clocks struck zero ...

---  
The spring has passed,  
And the summer come again.

End Prologue-Foreword.  
---

There is only one series.


	2. act 1ne

Disclaimers:

The characters and concepts included in the text below are the property of their respective creators. Their usage herein is not intended to conflict with the economic agendas of the media distributors licensed to misrepresent the source material for publication in the North American region. Fan-renderings of published material sold for monetary gain is protected under Japanese law, allowing that copyrights are acknowledged.

Comments for improvement greatly appreciated.

---   
Ikebukuro, Teito  
05:43 PM  
---

When the young man opened his eyes, the clouds streamed gold   
and orange overhead. Before his vantage-point on the rooftop,  
the streets spread to the dimming horizon in the bustle of the metropolitan  
twilight. The sun was a red disk, slowly sinking in the sky.

"We're here," he said.

"Stave Fifty-Second, the King of Diamonds," whispered a voice  
behind him.

From his shadow there stepped moonwards a small female child clad  
in a black dress of Victorian make. The crimson tresses beneath her  
morning cap were still despite the breeze, and the gaze of her  
cerulean eyes distant.

"Where are we at present, Ranma?" she asked, scanning the skyline.

"Somewhere close to home, hopefully," replied her companion. "The  
way the city looks, I'm guessing we're in Tokyo, maybe within a  
decade of Heisei Seven."

The girl approached the edge of the rooftop and gazed down into the  
array of streets far below.

"Dense Akashic ambience," she noted, turning to regard her  
companion with a neutral expression. "I'll need some time in stasis to  
adjust."

"I understand," said Ranma, giving her a slight nod. "In the meantime,  
I'll see if I can't locate analogues of the people we used to know."

"I shall awaken in forty-eight hours," she said. "Earlier, if you should  
happen upon a spare supply of energy."

"I'll think of something," said Ranma. "Rest well."

With a curtsy, the girl faded from view, leaving only a trace of ozone  
and a handful of handful of black down in the space she had occupied.  
Absently, Ranma snatched one of the feathers out of the air. Between  
his fingers, it became a card -- the Ace of Hearts.

"Ah, yes," he said, a smile breaking his solemn expression. "The  
Advent of the Birds."

The card burst into flames.

"I can stop it."

--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - ---  
casting the crying dream   
a generic ranma 1/2 multicross  
by fallacies  
act1ne : muimina hyoudai / garland  
"things that happened on september 4th"  
--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - ---

---   
Teito Budoukan  
06:30 PM  
---

They looked on with a certain intensity as the spotlights trailed Son   
Goku across the vast floor of the Budoukan. Said personage was --   
for the moment, at least -- the nucleus about which their monotonous  
lives revolved, and their dialogue was thus accordingly shaped:

"You gotta stop acting like this," said one of them, a youngish man  
with a staff hat and a goatee, seated behind a monstrosity of a camera  
near the edge of the stadium. "I don't understand why you have a  
problem with him."

The other -- a slightly older man wearing a pair of tinted, wire-  
rimmed glasses -- exhaled a plume of smoke into the empty row in  
front of him, leaning back in his own chair with his arms hanging  
limp over the adjacent seat-backs.

"When a fight's reduced to a matter of pitting raw power against more  
of the same," he said, "it's hard to claim with a straight face that  
there's any martial arts still involved. Son Goku's Tenkaichi amounts  
to a little more than a buncha muscle-bound Neanderthals engaging  
in a pissing contest. It ain't respectable."

"It's not as if he actively encourages people to match his style focus  
and preferences."

"Doesn't prevent the younger generation from cloning his techniques  
move-for-move," said the older man. "The complaint the more  
traditional schools have with institutions like the Tenkaichi is  
precisely that there's no emphasis on skill or diversity of technique  
anymore. Tournament fighting's become just another artless spectator  
sport, to their view."

Goku waved to the audience at a round of applause, smiling  
obliviously. In the front row, a fat man in a sweaty Hawaiian shirt  
waved back, shouting something undecipherable over the roar of the  
crowd.

"You're looking at it the wrong way," said the cameraman. "When  
you get down to it, Goku's just an early exemplar of the modern style.  
You talk as if he's a trend-setter, but he really didn't introduce  
anything that wasn't there before. If the conservative schools can't  
keep up with the times, it's their own damn fault."

"By that logic, nobody ever started anything," said the older man  
curtly, dunking his cigarette into a tea-filled Styrofoam cup in the  
seat beside him. "And if nothing else, this trend of yours makes for  
shitty fighting. The matches all look like reruns."

They let the cheering of the crowds fill the lull in the conversation as  
Goku jumped up on to the fighting platform. A bank of lights flashed  
on, and found their way to the entrance opposite.

"And up against the reigning champion in the next match," said the  
announcer excitedly, "Yagami Raito, hailing from right here in Teito!"

A man in a black suit made his entrance, smirking as he locked gazes   
with Goku.

---  
Nerima, Teito  
06:30 PM  
---

-click-

"... chance he might surprise all of us here in the audience today, but  
so far we've found no record of him having participated in any  
martial ..."

"Huh," said Ranma. "Hafta look into that, I guess ..."

The faint blue light of the television flickered across the table, but  
achieved little more than to bathe the room in a dim, inconsistent  
glow. Son Goku's smiling, confident face reflected off the corner of a  
glass shard piercing out of the side of a trash bag.

Ranma picked up a framed photograph off a dusty counter, careful  
not to cut his fingers on the shattered cover-glass. It was a family  
portrait, he noted, of Soun and his three daughters on a day at the  
beach. The date penned into the bottom margin was July, 1994.

"Twelve years old, probably," he said softly. "Going by the date in  
the paper, she'd be eighteen this year."

With a snap of his fingers, a ghostly light-bulb appeared in the empty  
socket overhead, illuminating the room. Ranma stepped around an  
array of beer bottles at the foot of the table, and scanned the debris  
strewn about for anything at all of use.

"... insurance against potential collateral damage," said the television.  
"The newly installed distortion fields around the platform are capable  
of blocking military-grade weaponry and the majority of the ki  
attacks normally ..."

Annoyed that the Budoukai was interrupting his train of thought,  
Ranma sent the television a glare. The word "Mute" appeared in  
neon-green text at the upper left corner of the screen.

"They can't have been gone for all that long, though," he continued,  
looking down again at the floorboards next to the refrigerator.  
"Somebody's still paying the electric bills."

There was a patch of dry blood on the wood.

---  
Misaki Township  
06:30 PM  
---

In a mansion study, a sliver of moonlight cast upon the surface of a  
worn oaken desk the silhouette of a young woman. Over the polished  
checkered flooring just beyond the reach of the light there rolled a  
basalt mist, curling and pooling against the minute irregularities of  
the marble slabs.

"Report," said the woman. "And stop that."

The gas ascended from the floor, flowing into the form of a tall man  
in a trench-coat. Half hidden in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat,  
his grin revealed inhumanly long canines.

"A series of low-level IPW broadcasts were detected in Ikebukuro at  
roughly 1745," he said. "As the set of frequencies exhibited were  
markedly different from any of the ones we have on record, we  
decided to look into the matter. Recon established visual surveillance  
at 1800, and observation is ongoing."

"Show me what you have," the woman ordered.

A flat surface of light lifted into the woman's frontal plane from  
between two rows of tiles, rising to the veneer of the ceiling. About  
the blankness, black text pixelated into existence, and a photograph  
of a pigtailed young man appeared besides.

"A name to go with the face?" asked the woman.

"No matches so far, but we're in the process of searching citizen  
registration. The compound the paranormal is investigating is owned  
by one Tendou Soun, a martial artist of some minor renown, student  
of the Chinese ki specialist Ba-Bao Zhai. Little information is  
available regarding the details of Tendou's personal life, and his  
current location is unknown."

"Have you established any leads on this ... ki specialist?"

The man's grin grew slightly feral.

"I traded blows with him seventy years back, and I haven't heard  
from him since," he said. "Not all that shabby for a mortal, but a little  
too reliant on explosives. A bit like yourself, Miss Akiha."

Akiha eyed the man, unamused.

"Don't you start," she said. "I haven't forgiven you yet for the mess  
you caused last time."

There was a faint chuckle as Alucard's body dissipated.  
"So much easier to get a rise out of you than I can her Ladyship," he  
said, voice echoing against the walls as he vanished. "I'm off to  
determine the threat of the target. Call me if there's a problem."

A full minute passed before Akiha felt it safe enough to allow herself  
a sigh.

"I swear," she said, swiveling her chair to face the night sky. "The  
man's habits have got to go."

---  
Minato, Teito  
06:36 PM  
---

"... contestants appear to be talking. Let's cut over to the  
microphones out on the platform."

The walls of Kounan Mansions Room 302 were plain, whitewashed  
plaster, but the flat's current inhabitant had gone to some length to  
soften the harsh, nihilistic modernity intended by the architects. As  
such, wooden boards had been installed over the grey tiling that  
furnished the original floor, and a crown molding of similar material  
adorned the perimeter of the ceiling. To fill the emptiness of the walls,  
there were a number of feline posters taped up, as well as an audio  
system for the occasional bit of J-Pop.

The occupant of the 1LK -- a Yamamura Sadako -- sat at present  
holding a cell-phone to her ear amidst the pile of multicolored plush  
dolls on her couch. Across the room from her, between a large Liddo-  
kun doll and a Chiyo-Chichi plush, there was an old, slightly staticky  
Genom television, at which she was gaping blankly.

"Look, kid," said Goku. "I don't really plan on hurtin' you or nuthin',  
but ... just in case, you wanna quit?"

"Are you even listening to me?" asked the voice on her cell-phone.

"At this rate we'll never get the lines memorized."

"Yes, Kaorin ..."

"Don't you 'Yes‾, Kaorin' me, missy. If you're busy with something,  
get it done and over with. I can't have you all distracted like this, you  
know? Gotta get this down before next week, or Kimura-sensei's  
gonna throw a fit."

Sadako focused her eyes on one of the names at the bottom of the  
screen.

"Kaorin," she said. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Yeah?" asked Kaori.

"Turn on your television, and switch the channel to WHK," said  
Sadako. "They're showing the Budoukai."

The phone fell silent.

"Thank you for your consideration, Mister Champion," said Yagami.  
"I don't think I'll be visiting the loser's bracket tonight, though. Let's  
proceed with the match as planned."

"That isn't who I think it is, is it?" asked Kaori. "Yagami, from our  
course with Kurosawa-sensei? That guy you've got a crush on?"  
"I'm not imagining this, then," said Sadako, blushing a bit. She  
hugged her Nekokoneko plush a little tighter. "Yagami-kun ...

---  
Teito Budoukan  
06:37 PM  
---

As they slowly circled each other on the platform, Goku concentrated  
on feeling out the quirks of Yagami's ki pattern for evidence of power  
suppression. It seemed that the boy's energies were at best far weaker  
than the Kame-sennin's at his peak, and that was giving a charitable  
estimate; there was nothing at all distinguishing about Yagami's aura,  
besides perhaps a hint of fire.

'Why's the kid so confident, then?' thought Goku. 'He doesn't move  
around like a martial artist, and his stance ...' Goku fought the urge to  
roll his eyes. 'He's got his hands in his pockets, for heaven's sake!'  
Deciding to end the match with a quick incapacitation, Goku instant-  
transmissioned himself mid-stride to the area immediately behind  
Yagami. His knife-hand passed through empty air where the boy's  
neck had been less than a second prior.

"Your aim seems a bit off, Mister Champion," said Yagami, standing  
at the other end of the platform.

Goku blinked, slightly stunned.

'Some sorta teleportation?' he thought. 'No, doesn't feel right. How'd  
he know I was gonna strike him? I didn't telegraph my moves, so ...'  
Goku narrowed his eyes. 'Can he read my mind?'

To test out the theory, Goku made a dash to elbow the boy in the  
stomach. The attack missed again, but this time he caught sight of the  
"technique." A few milliseconds before impact, the boy's body  
suddenly blurred and faded away.

"After-images?" asked Goku aloud. "Is that how you fight?"

The boy smiled. "You overestimate me, Mister Champion," he said,  
adjusting his tie a little. "I'm not well-trained enough to pull off  
anything that fancy."

Behind Goku, an identical voice asked: "I don't imagine you know  
anything about hallucinogenic blood toxins, do you?"

---  
Nerima, Teito  
06:37 PM  
---

The shadows across the inside of the doujou deepened and twisted.  
Ranma narrowed his eyes and carefully backed himself toward a  
claw-scarred wall, noting vaguely to avoid the large splinters of wood  
littered about. An area of pitch black gathered at the far end of the  
room, drawing darkness to its center like a vacuum nozzle put to dust.

A boot clanked down against the floorboards somewhere out of sight,  
and from the heart of the ebon vortex there emerged a man in a suit  
and trench coat. In a gloved hand, he clutched a wide-brimmed hat  
against his mane of black hair, and there radiated from behind his  
shades a crimson glow. Once in the open, he started toward Ranma  
with slow, calculated paces.

"My name," he said, grinning, "is Alucard. I'm a representative of the  
Special Immigrations Unit at Foundation AEGIS."

"You here lookin' for me?" asked Ranma.

"Paranormal Identification Code #S24M," said Alucard. "I'm here to  
notify you that we're forcibly enacting your deportation."

"You've got the wrong guy," said Ranma. "My name is Saotome  
Ranma. I've never heard of this Para-"

An immense noise tore through the room. Ranma's eyes widened at  
the wisps of smoke rising from the bullet-hole beside his head.

"I don't care who you think you are, #S24M," said Alucard. The gun  
didn't waver.

Ranma frowned, but chose to remain silent in deference to the barrel  
of the man's weapon.

"Does the size of my piece make you feel insecure?" asked Alucard,  
smirking. "Be a good little boy and just give up."

Ranma bristled at the remark, and replied, "You wouldn't be using  
that big a gun if you didn't have a bit of insecurity yourself, asshole."

"Contradicting brat," said Alucard venomously, pulling the trigger.  
"Bon appetit."

---  
Teito Budoukan  
06:40 PM  
---

"Poison," gasped Goku, struggling to remain upright. "You poisoned  
me with magic?"

The platform was filled with identical duplicates of Yagami Raito,  
smiling and watching on as Goku attempted to regain control of his  
body.

"Though it was once so-called, I assure you that my administrations  
are not magic," they said in unison, dispersing as if made of mist.

The Budoukan was empty. Goku's shaking form stood in a lone  
spotlight at the center of the darkened expanse.

"This is a hallucination," said a voice that came from everywhere. "It  
is a product of your own imagination -- a waking nightmare."

From the scores of seats beyond the floor, mannequins rose from  
nothingness in standing ovation, wordlessly clapping their hollow  
appendages in a parody of congratulations. A decapitated corpse in  
an orange training gi lifted itself over the edge of the platform,  
trailing a path of blood as it slowly clawed its way toward Goku.

"Kuririn," Goku whispered.

"I'm using a type of systemized ki manipulation, the effect of which  
is usually referred to as Nen," said the voice calmly. "It was devised  
so to empirically categorize the assorted applications of ki observed  
in Oriental martial arts. There are only around five thousand  
practitioners worldwide, so it's not exactly surprising you've never  
come across it before."

More corpses materialized: the Kame-sennin, Yamcha, Tenshinhan,  
Chao-zu, Vegita ... and Chichi, her empty eye sockets crawling with  
maggots. Goku squeezed his eyes shut, but couldn't ignore the stench  
of decomposition. The mannequins continued clapping. He collapsed  
to his knees.

"This is impossible," he whispered. "No one can do this."

"Though it does require a little more concentration and effort than the  
average ki-blast, my technique is fundamentally identical to your  
trademark Kamehameha," said Chichi's voice. "A blast of free ions is  
but the simplest tangible form a quantity of ki can be forced to take."

"When did you poison me?" asked Goku, clenching his teeth.

"I haven't the slightest clue, to be honest," said the voice. "At some  
point, you must have tripped the trace amounts of macroed ki I left in  
my footsteps as I walked. I formatted the energy to convert and  
materialize into your bloodstream as poison molecules on contact  
with your aura."

"Ki mines," spat Goku, opening his eyes to a blurred image of  
Yagami's face.

"You're strong, but still ultimately bound by the limits of your own  
physiology," said Yagami. "The era of Son Goku is ended."

---  
Nerima, Teito  
06:40 PM  
---

The bullet compressed and ground to a halt against Ranma's forehead,  
falling away at the close of its revolution to reveal no visible damage.  
As the deformed slug clinked against the floor, the skin struck by the  
gunshot peeled off in a rectangle and descended in uneven arcs to the  
blood pooling at the boy's feet. At rest, the slip momentarily paled  
from skin-tone to white before capillary action recolored it a dark  
rose.

From out of the wall, next to where Ranma's hand was, there  
extended a curved spike of paper impaling Alucard through the  
ribcage, entering the torso just off-center enough to puncture the  
heart. Vascular fluids gushed profusely down the outer surface of the  
suit, coating the silk with what appeared to be a layer of dark gloss.  
Alucard's features were frozen in an expression of surprise.

"Fucking vampire," muttered Ranma under his breath. "Shouldn't  
have tried backing me up against something that high in pulp."

He stumbled disoriented in the general direction of the door as if  
concussed from the shot, but managed nevertheless to avoid most of  
the fluid in his path. A gurgling noise from behind stopped him a few  
steps from the exit, and unsurprised he turned to see the spray of  
blood across the floor receding to Alucard's boots.

"You don't reek like most humans," said Alucard in a slightly  
distorted voice. "At a glance, I'd taken you for an Invader. Seems I  
was a bit too hasty."

Carried by the mess of blood around it, the dropped gun lifted into  
Alucard's open hand, and with a slight motion of the wrist the  
weapon was again cocked in Ranma's direction.

"The Invaders don't care enough about stealth to shield their presence  
with ki-charged paper," said Alucard, "and as it's obvious you haven't  
the ego to make a formal stand against me, I rather doubt you to be  
amongst the Dead Apostles. Process of elimination says you're most  
likely human. Who trained you in paper control? Pantywaist  
Nakajima?"

"You talk too much," said Ranma.

"And you talk rather big for a coward who protects himself with  
tissues," said Alucard. "If you had the slightest clue how to fight for  
real, I wager you wouldn't be pulling parlor tricks like you just did."

Ranma cleaned out an ear with a pinky, expression betraying his  
annoyance.

"If those were just parlor tricks, you wouldn't have been caught off-  
guard like that," he replied. "Last I checked, you kinda died."

"I got better," said Alucard, firing again at Ranma's forehead.

The bullet hit its mark this time around, making a clean puncture  
through the surface membrane with considerable force. Simultaneous  
to the impact, however, the dome of the skull collapsed inward along  
the trajectory of the air distortion, bursting open through the back of  
the head in a cloud of shredded paper. A moment later, the body  
unraveled into layers of white parchment.

Alucard stared. When his initial surprise had passed, he sighed and  
tapped his earpiece.

"Staff Delta to Central," he said. "Do you read?"

"Loud and clear, Delta," said the earpiece. "How'd the encounter go?"

"Decently," said Alucard. "Temporarily redesignate the subject to  
human, subclass nen-user, possibly paper control. Did you get an  
IPW signature?"

"Sorry, but there wasn't a repeat broadcast after the initial burst,"  
replied the earpiece. "Threat classification?"

"C," said Alucard. "But just to be safe, put him under surveillance the  
next time he pops up. I think he's a stave-jumper."

---   
In the mountain depths,  
Treading through the crimson leaves,  
The wandering stag calls.

End Chapter One.  
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The Real Disclaimer:

This fanfic is utterly horrible. It lacks any discernable direction or organization, and, as is, appears to be randomly introducing unrelated characters in string of badly-written, incoherent scenes flagged with newbie-ish location/time markers.

The author is obviously an attention-seeking hack with no skill or Voice. He shall humbly accept any assistance that might render a ray of hope to the future of this fic, and wishes to thank all of those who have already contributed.

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Crapfic Wisdom #9   
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The longer the typical hero wallows in self-pity at the abuse and injustice he supposedly experiences, the less the gain of immense powers at inversely proportional accountability seems unjustified, no matter how deus ex machina the means. This actually amounts to the promise of divine retribution against the hero's perceived abusers. Even if he never gets a chance to carry out that retribution, it's the fact that he can do it that matters.


End file.
